Lucifer's Lover
by Carina Pir
Summary: Lucifer has taken a lover and he finds that their relationship is an unorthodox one. Mature sexual themes.
1. Lucifer's Lover

**Part 1  
Lucifer's Lover**

_Lucifer_

_***_

I have a secret. And I have to tell someone. But I cannot tell the demonic legions. Well, I could, but the amount of time I would spend punishing them for snickering would greatly reduce my relief at unburdening myself.

So that leaves you. Now, some of you might laugh. I know humans too well to believe otherwise. But before you do, just remember, my dears, that just like Santa Claus. . . I know when you are sleeping . . .and I know when you've been bad.

Oh, yes! I am more or less omniscient. Not like the Big Guy but, still, doesn't that just send chills up your spine? Wonderful spasms of sheer terror? Good, my darlings, good. I like to establish the playing field before I start the game.

And now for my secret.

I have taken a lover.

But that doesn't do my predicament justice now, does it?

Let me explain. Ah, where do I begin?

I met her at a club in Los Angeles. Very fitting, I thought. It was a fetish club and my favorite den of sexual iniquity. Not surprising since one of my favorite pastimes, when I'm not promoting hate and sparking violence, is spending a little time toying with your sexual hang ups. I used to teach you, but man-o-man, now I go to you for lessons, baby. And I take those lessons and I find some repressed, self-conscious victim and I teach them to love the dark and twisted perversion that waits for them deep in their soul. Of course, they begin to hate themselves so much for loving it that the guilt eats them up inside. And then they really become capable of some sick stuff. It's beautiful! But I digress . . .

So, I met my lover at this club. The kind of place where a bound man being lashed with a whip or a woman prancing around outfitted like a pony are merely playful appetizers. The real kinky stuff is going on in dozens of rooms behind tasteful red velvet curtains. And you part those curtains at your own risk.

My lover's best friend had brought her there for a laugh. And this friend had thought that she needed one because it was the anniversary of a nasty break up with a guy she'd never quite gotten over. Her friend dragged her here and there, peeking behind curtains, giggling, and generally acting like an idiot. I would have enjoyed awakening that one to her inner most deviant desires. I would have enjoyed her degradation and the plaintive sounds of her begging for more would have been music to my ears.

Ah, there I go again.

Digression is my middle name. They say that behind my back, you know. Yes, they do. I'm like a kid in a candy store. So much evil to do and so on.

Now back to my girl, the relatively unremarkable young woman who intrigued me so much. She blushed at some of the things she saw but she didn't giggle. She understood something about these people even though she was not one of them -- not exactly.

Everyone always looks at the -- well -- the receiver, don't they? They look at the poor shmucks who like it how they like it and they don't even notice the person giving them exactly what they paid for.

But the fine female specimen who had caught my eye, deep down she was one of those that administered the sensations and drank up the resulting response. She was a priestess who could take what supplicants offered and love them for their sacrifice...she just didn't know it yet.

And, so quite unlike myself, I sauntered over to her, introduced myself, and let her take me home.

I know what you're going to say. There are lots of people who like to dominate, who have a taste for the sadistic.

Yes, I know! I taught them everything they know. I unleashed them on you people. And I never before had the inclination to offer myself as their training ground!

I am the tormenter, I am the accuser, I am the _tempter of mankind!_

Of course, not for the reasons that you think, but I'll get to that later.

The truth is that I have absolutely no clue why I went with her that night. I would like to say that it was devilish mischievousness, but I think it was something closer to boredom, desperation . . . insanity. You can take your pick.

Whatever it was, I found myself, in her room, naked, and oh so fascinated with what she might do with me.

It was awkward that first time. She knew what she wanted but couldn't know what I would like. Of course, I couldn't help her there because I had no idea either. Oh, I've had sex, oodles and oodles of sex, but I'm the guy that screws and leaves unless I'm playing your twisted sexuality like a musical instrument. On this night, I was at a disadvantage.

And, yes by the way, angels have bodies. Or more correctly, we have the potential for a physical form, when we want one, for the purposes of communicating with you monkeys. I can make myself as _firm_ as you are, he he! I can appear however I like but I have true form both in the spiritual realm and in the physical one. My spiritual form is as horrific as you imagine that it would be. It is the direct opposite of the angelic glory that I once possessed. But my corporal form . . .Damn I'm hot!

Where was I?

Ah yes, the first time was awkward and she didn't have the necessary, uh, equipment. But we managed. And now the woman has a toy box that shames the depths of Hell, boys and girls. It has only been a three months but . . . .

The smell of leather turns me on now, the jingle of chains makes my mouth dry, the crack of a whip makes my little heart race.

The noises I make for her alone are enough to make Caligula blush.

And I keep going back. I keep finding myself at her doorstep. I know when she is home, obviously, and I go to her before I know what I'm doing. She opens the door, lets me in, and sends me to her room. And I go.

I go and do for her what I refused to do so long ago.

My little disappearing acts are making the natives restless but the fallen host is far too scared of me to do anything about it. At least not yet.

And why do I go back, you ask? Why would I let her do such naughty things to me?

Where do I start?

In the beginning. . .in the beginning I was a servant of the Most High, just like you've all been taught, I was his most devoted servant, the closest to His throne, but after that the story deviates. It wasn't until after you were created that the trouble started. I hadn't even noticed you, by the way, I hadn't even turned around and said "Oh, look at that." I had my adoring eyes fixed exactly where they should have been and then He turned to us and said that we must bow to His new creation. A creation that was superior to our angelic selves because He had put Himself into you.

Did I get jealous? Did I act pridefully and refuse? No! And yes.

I loved Him, ladies and gentlemen, I loved Him. He had formed me out of nothing and made me His perfect servant. He had whispered in my ear that I was for Him alone and that I was to bow to no other.

And then He threw me away, boys and girls, He found a new plaything and He tossed me aside. But I did nothing more than question this strange order. I hesitated and others with me and we were summarily removed from His presence. I didn't understand. I still don't.

Where we exist now there is nothing. Infinite nothingness upon unending nothingness. A Hell of emptiness when we used to be surrounded by and filled with His love. And in that hole, there is agony. Imagine being heartbroken, in mourning, and lonely at the same time. Imagine having a headache, toothache, and earache all at the same time.

Now do you see why we are drawn to your little planet? Now do you see why your corruption is so thrilling? It distracts from the aching. It's really that simple. Nothing dastardly about it. You are the interactive reality show that keeps us from wallowing in our anguish.

Okay, you say, so what does this have to do with the fact that yours truly has started to take his coffee with a dash of pain?

Well, you might start by asking yourselves what His presence must really be like? Hmm?

It is . . .intense, to put it simply. It was an all-encompassing experience of love and joy and. . .

I was a flaming orgasm, basically. Not the alcoholic beverage, obviously. A literal incorporeal orb of burning ecstasy where pleasure and pain were one and the same and I sang out in rapturous worship. Neat, huh?

So when my lover, mmmm, my mistress decides to use my body as the scapegoat for wrongs done to her by other people . . .

Firstly, I cannot be permanently damaged and so I have no fear. And secondly, your kind of pain is nothing to angelic pain. The searing sting of a lash is more akin to the burning rapture of Heaven than to what I feel when I am alone in my Hell. She gives me a taste of Heaven and she doesn't even realize it.

And when she is done with me, she always takes me to her bed. To comfort me . . .To reward me. I am always hard before she has untied the last knot and she thinks that it's because the pain turns me on. That I anticipate the pleasure I know will follow. But I am already satisfied.

I have suffered what she has asked me to just as I used to endure His presence and love Him for allowing me to. So my poor, confused body offers her pleasure for what she has done to me and I am always strangely surprised when I find myself shaking with my own.

And more often now when I go to her I find myself lying with my head in her lap instead of bound and at her mercy. She pets me, running her hands over me like I am a skiddish horse that needs to be calmed. And I just lie there and let her stroke me like an obedient lap dog.

She has discovered more subtle forms of submission and that she only has to open her hand to have me eating out of it. I have become her ardent and compliant lover. And making love to her is its own kind of Heaven.

There is one rule in her bed however. One doesn't climax before she does. I learned that lesson the hard way only once. I'd never bothered with such niceties before but it seems wise to humor her.

She doesn't know what I am, of course. I'm just a man to her. She calls me Luke and I call her Mistress.

And she possesses me. I go there to be possessed. To remember what it feels like to belong to someone.

It is to these depths that I have fallen. That I go to a woman and I kneel and I give myself over.

And I think I'm falling in love with her.

It terrifies me. But not for the reasons you probably suspect.

I may be ruined but I remember what love feels like. What my love feels like. My love is selfless devotion. My love is absolute trust and worshipful adoration.

What I have to give, she would never understand. She only sees a man turned on by pain, a man who likes a woman to dominate him. She could never comprehend the angel who transcends what she understands as pain and humiliation, who feels at home in her possession, who actually yearns to do nothing but obey. There is no sacrifice I wouldn't give for the one I love.

Sometimes I think I was a sacrifice. One that was needed to bring you into existence. But that doesn't stop me from hating you.

You are why I have hurt for so long. I no longer have a divine purpose. I have been spent and what's left of me lingers without direction. He doesn't even bother to stop me from corrupting you. He simply ignores me. He turns his attention to you.

Don't you know how much I long for him to stop me? To exact a punishment and take me home or just destroy me?

But there has been no absolution because there has been no one to forgive me. No one for me to belong to.

Until now.

Oh! You're going to love this! Until now! Until precisely a week ago, and again last night mid-. . . well, let's just say mid-grand finale, I said some things. Well, more accurately, I sang some things.

Ha! I sang words from the Gloria! Just a few mind you, but I haven't been able to so much as think about that little ditty in millennia. I told her it was Icelandic.

But the best part, oh, the best part is that a twisted place inside me isn't sure if I sang to Him or to her. Don't you just love it when you find new and inventive ways of blaspheming? I know I do!


	2. The Devil's Mistress

**Part 2  
The Devil's Mistress**

_Elizabeth_

_***_

I'm very embarrassed to tell you this but I think I've become a sexual deviant. That might be putting it a little harshly but I don't know how else to put it. I've always had little fantasies, you know, things that you would never even tell your best friend about, but I've never really taken them seriously. They were all tucked away safely in the deep recesses of my mind to be pulled out and examined only rarely.

That was until I met Luke.

I don't know why I took him home. I've never done that before. I've never been that kind of girl. Honestly. Besides, I'm past the age where a one night stand is irresistibly intriguing.

Of course, my first night with Luke was far from one night stand material.

My friend Melissa had taken me to a fetish club on a whim. She's like that, adventurous and wild. And she's my best friend because she _does_ drag me around on randomly interesting outings that are sure to leave us laughing.

Melissa had decided that I needed a little pick me up when she discovered that I was having a self-pity party in my pajamas on a perfectly wonderful Saturday evening. She never stands for that kind of behavior even if I am totally justified in obsessing over old boyfriends or wondering if I will ever find the man for me.

I don't even remember the name of the club she took me to or how to get there. I blocked it out of my memory most likely because one cannot admit to actually knowing about a place like that. Can one? Of course, it's too late for me to be prudish now. I might as well wear a leather bustier and fishnet stockings to the office along with a color coordinated whip, that's how deeply perverted I have become.

Strong words, I know, but something in me is not completely comfortable with what I am capable of when I have Luke in my bedroom.

Anyway, Melissa and I ventured out to a fetish club in Los Angeles. It was dark inside as it was lit only by the flashing lights from the dance floor and a few candles flickering on sconces along the outer walls. The music throbbed and pulsed loudly but it was not enough to entirely cover the occasional sound of a whip crack or a resounding cry for mercy. Around the edges of the large main room there were curtained rooms where the bolder club goers indulged themselves.

"How about this one," she had said and shoved me through into one of the rooms where I found a woman strapped to a table and a man getting ready to. . .

Well, what was going on at the club is not the point. What _is_ important and what changed my life forever was that as we were treating ourselves to night of delicious voyeurism a man walked up to me and introduced himself as Luke. My friend promptly abandoned me which is, according to her, precisely what a good friend should do when a hot guy approaches.

And he was very hot! Tall, dark and handsome doesn't do him justice. Luke has curly black hair that always looks slightly rumpled in the sexiest of ways. His dark eyes are the loveliest shade of green that I have ever seen. And his body . . . he _cannot_ be for real but since I've touched him, he must be. I'm getting ahead of myself but he has the kind of body that makes you want to run your hands over it just to experience what such precision feels like. Not that I bothered with a detailed inspection early on. I was much too infatuated with the opportunity he presented than I was with his beauty.

Anyway, that night Luke was dressed in an exquisitely tailored black suit that should have made him seem out of place at a sex club but didn't. He looked like he owned not just the club but the whole block. And I stood there like an idiot staring at him wide-eyed and drooling.

"I think I might have what you have in mind," he said to me, not seeming to have to yell to make himself heard over the music.

"Oh!" I said stupidly.

"Yes," he said, and smiled, playfully amused by my awkwardness.

"Why don't we let my driver take your friend home, hm?" He continued. "So that we can take our leave."

"Well, I . . . ." I stammered.

"Excellent," he purred and the next thing I knew I was driving him to my house in Melissa's car.

Strange, I know! But he had this _pull_ about him. I couldn't resist and the bells and alarms that should have been going off in my head just weren't. The idea of it scares me now but he turned out to be, well, not what I would have expected.

Once we got to my home, a little ranch style house on a cul-de-sac that is still green though I have vowed to paint it for years, I gave him a short tour. Lame, I am aware, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. When I was done showing him my unremarkable kitchen, Luke took my hand and led me back to the bedroom. He sat me on the edge of my bed, gave me a mysterious smile and began taking his clothes off. I watched him wide-eyed, dry-mouthed and rapt.

When he was completely naked, he reached forward and took my hands to raise me up. He put my hands on his bare chest and then his expression changed from the mild amusement that had been present since we'd met to a kind of weary longing.

"Do what you want," he whispered to me. Immediately, as if he had called them forth, images flashed in my head that I recognized from my private fantasy collection.

"But . . ." I started in a feeble attempt to rescue myself.

Luke just shook his head at me.

"Do what you want," he said again.

And I did. I was new to the, uhm, S&M scene so I didn't have any nifty toys but I found that all of the equipment that I need was at my fingertips. The mind gets very inventive when you are being guided by such deep desires.

And that is how it started. He offered and I took. Now our relationship has developed into so very much more.

I, uh, have a toy box now. I have metal shackles and chains that are hard and cold against his warm skin, supple leather bonds that can be pulled cruelly tight and strong silk cords for when I want to get creative.

And once I have him where I want him . . .

There is nothing quite as satisfying as the thrill one gets from the use of a whip. The abrupt and ruthless sound of the crack it makes against the skin. The gratifying vibration that travels back into your hand. Not to mention the tortured cries that it brings from Luke. But somehow, no matter how anguished his screams become there is always a hint of a contented sigh, a whimper of pleasure, beneath all of the pain. That's how I know that he hasn't had enough yet. When all I get is a dreamy moan, I know it's time to stop.

I had always understood that, with these types of fantasies, it is really the submissive party's specific desire that is being fulfilled, not the dominant's. But Luke asks for nothing and denies me nothing. He just comes to me and gives himself over. And more than that he manages to do everything so willingly. Without fear, without shame. I honestly don't know how he does it. He has yielded himself to everything I have asked of him, so I have kept asking for more. He has literally become mine. Mine in a way that makes words like lover, property, and slave inadequate. And I love him for it.

When I'm at work I daydream of finding him naked and chained to my bed when I get home. He opens his drowsy eyes, stretches, and welcomes me home with a sufficiently submissive smile. It is love that I feel when think of him waiting for me in chains, not lust. It is an exotic mix of the fondness one feels for an obedient dog and the burning ardor of young lovers. It is dark and wild and totally intoxicating.

And through all of this, Luke has been exalted by his surrender not demeaned by it. His love is made more pure and more perfect than mine could ever be. I often feel as if I am the helpless one because I am in awe of him. I am demanding and brutal but he stands before me with calm trust and does not look away.

Like I said, the nature of our relationship has become as frightening as it is exciting.

For the first few weeks that we were together, when I took him to my bed I was so excited that I reached my climax easily. Then one night I needed a little more help to, you know, get things going, but he was too focused on himself to notice. When he was done, laying on me breathing roughly . . . I flipped out a little.

I'm normally not bothered by such things. I mean, I'm next, right? But because of the nature of our relationship, I could not allow it.

I pulled myself out from under him, turned away like a haughty princess, and I told him to get out. Playing the martyr is always a favorite ploy. Guys are supposed to recognize it and play along. But Luke didn't. He just laid there and looked crushed. Absolutely decimated. I waited for him to speak the well chosen words would have have cooled my temper. But he just got up meekly and left. It was as if he was playing out a scene that had nothing to do with me.

Two weeks later, an eternity when you consider that he had been coming over every three days or so, he was at my door again. He never calls, he just shows up, leaving me to wonder how often he goes away disappointed that I'm not at home. I think that it is part of the game for him but I'm not sure.

When I opened the door, he just stood there looking at me desperately as if staying away so long had been the hardest thing he had ever done. I let him in immediately, I had been waiting for him for days, and without any direction from me, he went straight to my bedroom and stripped. So, I made him suffer because it was what he expected, it was what he wanted, and when I was done he was as hard and ready as he always has been.

To say that he was eager to please would be a vast understatement. He flowed over my body like water, engulfing me in a flood of fervent lips and tender hands. And I am almost certain that if I had not grabbed his luscious butt and drove him deep inside of me, I'd still be in my bed now being tended to.

Since then, Luke has refined himself into a gentle and attentive lover. But now I can't get him to climax before me no matter what I do. His control is amazing. I know because I've tried to break it. He simply will not do it and it scares me because it forces me to recognize how fragile he really is. All I did was kick him out.

It makes me wonder what kind of ordeals he has been through that have made enduring my lash so fulfilling and offering such obedience so satisfying. And I know he enjoys it. I just don't understand why. It was after that incident that I started to be more careful with him. I started to move away from simply using his body as my personal stress reliever. There are other ways for him to submit to me and I began to explore them all.

The next time he came to me I asked him to kneel for the first time. You would have figured that I would have gotten to that sooner but was not a sophisticated mistress early on. He gave me a startled look that I had not expected and I thought for a second that this would be a line that he would not cross, but then he eased himself gracefully down on his knees and bowed his head.

It struck me immediately how perfectly natural he looked in the pose he had chosen. His knees were slightly apart as he sat back on his heels and supported his lowered torso with palms laid flat on the floor in front of him. His hesitation seemed strange considering how elegantly he assumed this subservient posture. I reached down and lifted his chin to bring his eyes to mine. And I think I saw the briefest flicker of fear in his eyes before his trust returned. I smiled, led him to the couch and laid him across my lap. It was then that I discovered the simple pleasure that could be had by caressing his beautiful body. Each curve and angle seems perfect and there is something pleasing about the firmness of his muscles that I can't quite describe. Of course, the exquisite shivers my touches cause and the soft pleading noises that he eventually begins to make only add to the experience.

But despite my discovery that he also enjoys more subtle forms of obedience there still is something a bit off about how submissive he is, how much pain he can take, and how his mere presence elicits such a passionately violent response in me.

What bothers me even more though, and I don't know why, is that sometimes when he orgasms he sort of, well, he sings out in a foreign language. When I asked, he told me it was Icelandic but I don't believe him. There is no reason why anyone should know Icelandic.

And besides, I feel those words resounding in my head and reverberating in my bones. It feels like what you would expect love to feel like if someone could wrap you up in their emotions. I know that sounds corny but it's what I feel.

I'll have to ask him about it next time I see him. And I think it's time I took him out to dinner first.


	3. Hold Me Tightly

**Part 3  
Hold Me Tightly**

_Lucifer_

I am Satan, the Prince of Darkness and the Father of Lies. And I think I have a girlfriend. I do believe that I am actually dating a woman. And I'm faithful. What is my existence coming to?

But don't feel sorry for me. Don't even bother. I have better sex than you do!

Ah, if gloating is not one of the seven deadly sins, it definitely should be. It's my favorite one.

Well now, as it happened, my lover and I took the next step in our relationship one evening a few weeks ago after I had been away for longer than usual. I showed up unannounced, as I am wont to do, and once she let me in, I left a trial of discarded clothing on my way to her room where I promptly I took my place on her bed. She followed, unable to resist my display, and stood over me as I lay waiting for her She ran a lazy hand down my back and I arched myself up towards her hand and purred like a good kitty. As her hand was trailing over the backs of my thighs, I was thinking to myself how much I was looking forward to the sensation of her fingernails digging into my skin. How much I longed for the spasms of pain that rip through me when her teeth nip at my nipples or any other part of me she feels like marking as her own. How I was aching with the anticipation of being led to the wall of her bedroom where decorative hooks try desperately to look inconspicuous. But I know why they are there. And afterwards, how I would respond to her gentle hands coaxing me to ridged attention so eagerly that even if spilling myself meant death, at a word from her I would die willingly.

Oh, I was ready to make my offering. I was more than ready.

"Are you hungry?" my lover asked, breaking into my reverie.

"Hungry?" I replied as if she had spoken in some archaic language and I turned my head to look at her.

She smiled and laughed at me.

"Hungry, as in, do you want to eat something?" She informed me.

I fought a three second battle with myself not to answer with _"If you will it."_ That would have been interesting. The state of mind I come to her in tends to elicit, uh, devoted responses. And normally, the goofy expressions that come out of my mouth fit with the game she thinks we are playing, but you can't agree to go to dinner with someone in such a submissive way and expect them not to think you're loony.

Finally, I managed a lame, "Yes."

"Good, I'll get dress and we'll go someplace nice," she said and then proceeded to attack her closet with gusto.

"I will call my driver," I offered, not being able to think of anything else to say. We don't talk much, not in a casual way. She tells me what she wants of me and I do it. There isn't the need for much dialogue.

"I can't believe you actually have a driver!" She exclaimed, still focused on her wardrobe, "I suppose it figures. Those suits you wear are not from Macy's."

"Well, how else should a devastatingly rich and handsome man get around town?" I retorted with a cocky smile, easing into my habitually arrogant self.

"Oh," she replied with great sarcasm, "I assumed that you rode a winged horse. Silly me!"

"Ah, yes, well, he's in the shop," I replied, my smiled having widened at her witty remark.

Then she turned back to me with a mirthful smile, her outfit selected, and ordered, "Put your clothes on," in a comfortingly familiar way.

I obeyed and then left her to go to the living room to pretend to call my driver. I actually do have a driver and a stately Bentley but I don't communicate with my demons via something as ridiculous as a phone.

_Adoniel, get your lazy ass over here with the Bentley now!_ – I projected politely into the mind of my faithful chauffeur and then I took a seat on the couch and waited.

As I sat there, it occurred to me that allowing another fallen angel to know about my little obsession was probably not the brightest idea I'd ever had. But they would all find out soon enough. My dutiful demons spread the rumors better than rich housewives and bored officer workers combined. It's usually a skill that I admire but in this case it would be a nuisance.

Oh, well! I will start some talk of my own. I'll pick some poor unsuspecting cherub and make an example of him in a very public manner. And then I let my victim spread it around that if any of them come anywhere _near_ her, if anyone so much as _breathes_ the first syllable of her name . . . I will tear them into infinitesimal shreds of throbbing agony and watch them spend eternity trying to put themselves back together again! I will show them what pain really feels like! I will . . .

What? Her name? Elizabeth. I do trust that my secret is safe with you. You've been so obliging as to listen to me rant and rave. It really would be a shame to have to destroy you, wouldn't it?

So! Uh, yes! Elizabeth eventually finished her preparations and came out to the living room grinning like a girl going to the Prom. I don't think she gets all gussied up much. She was dressed in a pale blue cocktail dress that looked lovely against her tanned skin and wearing these heels that made her legs look positively scrumptious. I had been admiring the effect on her calves when I suddenly realized that I was staring at her feet as she moved towards me. Oh, you know you've truly lost it when you're gazing longingly at your lover's feet and you're thinking that it would be a very good idea to kneel and kiss them.

I promptly snapped my head up to her face and said, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," she blushed and then she reached out her hand to me to remind me that one must stand before walking.

Like a proper gentleman, I tucked her hand in the crook of my arm and escorted her to our idling chariot.

"That's quite a car," she commented on our way down the stone path to her driveway.

"Did you think I would have anything as boring as a common limousine?"

"I don't think much about your mode of transportation," she quipped.

"Ah, I forgot my place, my dear!" I answered with a laugh. "With you I am not the Prince of this World. You can reprimand me for my insolence later."

Elizabeth stumbled and blushed positively scarlet. The use of one of my many titles did not register with her as anything but a witty comment, but my not so subtle allusion to our bedroom activities did not sit well with her. I stiffened my arm to stop her from falling and then moved to open the door to hand her into the car. She ducked quickly into her seat, keeping her eyes fixed on the seat in front of her, and began fussing with her seatbelt. I had no choice but to close the door and scold myself all the way to the other side of the car.

By the time I slid in next to her, she was firmly strapped into the vehicle and staring at the back of Adoniel's unsuspecting head. A sudden rage blew through me, a gust of hot jealously. Her eyes should be on me. In love or in hate or in anger, I didn't care, but her attention was mine.

"Elizabeth," I practically growled.

My lover turned to me with a warm but timid smile. Her eyes fluttered down shyly and then back up to cautiously meet my gaze. And I saw to my horror that the great force of her will, the domineering confidence, that I love so much was being washed away by wave after wave of embarrassment and insecurity. My goddess was abandoning me. The woman who sat before me was that and nothing more. She was just a girl going out on a date with a guy she met at a club a few months ago. I was no longer her creature. I was a man to be flirted with and carefully sized up as a potential mate. I was unfamiliar ground instead of conquered territory. And unfortunately, this change of attitude was making me want to hurt someone . . . badly.

It was then that I realized how delicate her belief was in her power over me. In her mind, we played a game were she gave me the rare opportunity to relinquish control and in return I generously indulged her fantasies. Well, she was half right.

And as I sat there battling the wild parts of me that clamored to take advantage of her weakness, she regarded me with innocent eyes, until finally I succeeded gently taking one of her hands in mine and raising it to my lips.

"Where are we going?" She asked amiably, as my gesture calmed the tempestuous sea of her emotions.

"Ado. . . Adam, knows where he is going?" I murmured and a delighted smile broke across my face as Adoniel pulled away from the curb.

"I suppose I'll just have to trust you," she said, grinning back at me.

And there it was. Her trust was in my hands now and she didn't even realize the risk she was actually taking. She had no clue _what_ was sitting next to her and what I was capable of in my untamed state.

"So what is it that you do?" She asked me on the short ride to my favorite spot for experiencing culinary decadence. "I mean for a living," she continued.

"This and that," I replied with a smirk that wanted to become a malevolent grin but was losing out to my last ounce of restrain.

"Oooo, mysterious," she chided and chuckled easily. Her momentary battle with uncertainty was over and her return to a more relaxed state eased me a little, but not enough.

"I could tell you but then I would have to kill you," I blurted out.

At this she, put a hand to her stomach and giggled.

"Okay, James Bond!" She snorted in between her fits of laughter. "Sorry, sorry! I don't mean to laugh at you . . ."

"It's alright," I rumbled grumpily, "I know where you live."

She laughed again and put her hand on my shoulder to steady herself, "You're funny," she proclaimed and in her shining eyes I saw the shadow of the self-assured woman I adored shift and move beneath the surface.

When we arrived at the restaurant, La Porte du Ciel, I got out of the car and she waited obediently for me to open her door only because I had stared her down until she had nodded her compliance. I walked her on my arm in to the foyer of the establishment were we were rudely greeted by a pompous maître'd.

"Do you have a reservation?" he asked in a tone that showed how much he was looking forward to sending us away when we told him that we did not.

"No," I informed him coolly.

"In that case . . . "

"In that case," I interrupted him, "You might want to take a look at my card before you decide which table we will be seated at."

I reached into my breast pocket and unveiled said business card which I impatiently allowed him to inspect.

"Oh my!" he gushed when he was finished, "Mr. Morningstar, welcome to our humble restaurant. Allow me to notify the manager and we will have the best table ready for you immediately."

I nodded my acceptance of his proposal and he scurried off to make it happen.

Elizabeth regarded me curiously after this display of male authority but she was soon too caught up in her fascination with the opulence of the place to analyze it further. Even once we sat down, I could not get her attention on the menu. When the waiter finally arrived and rattled off the appetizers, entrées and wine selections we would be having for the evening.

When the man left she said to me, "That was expertly done. I think I might have a gentleman on my hands."

"In your hands," I corrected her before I could stop myself and another hot blush spread across her lovely face.

From then on I tried to stick to banal pleasantries. We talked about the weather and the state of the economy. We discussed her favorite pieces of literature and my vast, uhm, knowledge of history. And it all was going perfectly fine until she asked, "How is it that you speak Icelandic?"

"I speak many languages," I deflected, "In business it is wise to be multilingual."

"But Icelandic," she said, not buying it. "And that song you sing some times when we're . . . intimate. "

I smiled remembering.

"My father taught me that song," I told her semi-truthfully, "It is a song of love and joy."

"Oh!" She mumbled.

"I sing it when I am happy," I added.

Elizabeth flushed but this time with pleasure and then we were mercifully distracted by the chocolate soufflé.

Dutiful Adoniel was waiting for us at the curb when we exited and like a good boy remained safely behind the driver's seat where he belongs. I ushered Elizabeth in to the back seat and took my place by her side for the ride home. When we got there, I didn't need to intimidate her into waiting for me to come around to her door. She waited for me patiently and gave me a sweet smile when I opened the door.

Walking Elizabeth along the path to her front door, I began to worry that I had irrevocably destroyed the illusion of home that she had created for me here. She reached for her purse and fumbled with her keys before unlocking the door and preceding me into the darkened living room.

Then tossing her bag on the couch, Elizabeth strode over to her wing backed armchair, her heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor, and sat down, leaning back and crossing her legs seductively. I stood in the middle of the room, waiting nervously for some sign that I was forgiven for a transgression that she didn't even know had occurred.

I had burned hopeless agony for a few moments and then she purred, "I have a new toy for you."

Abruptly, I surged forward and knelt at her feet. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned forward and dug a hand into my hair. Then forcing my head back, she kissed me roughly, before she pushed me backwards onto the floor, her new toy forgotten. As I lay back, she stood over me, kicking off her heels and slipping her dress down her body and onto the floor. Coming down to kneel over me, she slid off my jacket and seized my mouth again fiercely. Each piece of clothing that she took from me was flung away impatiently as if its presence insulted her and my lips paid the price for each offense.

And just like that, my goddess returned to claim me again. She took me there on the bare floorboards, her hips grinding me against the unforgiving wood. I existed for her pleasure once again and my trembling body welcomed her right reign over it completely. When she cried out ecstasy, I felt her satisfaction as a blaze of joy in my heart. My arms tightened and I clung to her desperately, uncontrollably following her lead into the rapture of release, and unleashing more than mere seed.

Elizabeth got the whole first verse of the Gloria out of me that night, boys and girls. Oh yeah! With all the choirs of angels in heaven let us proclaim His glory and join in their unending hymn of praise, my friends. _Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus!_

I didn't actually sing in Latin obviously. But that didn't stop my little performance from ruining her acceptance of my white lie about the song's origin. I'll just leave it to her to torture the truth out of me. I'm looking forward to it.

Oh, if you're wondering why sex with humans is so attractive to a fallen angel, you will first need to understand that angels don't have sex like humans do. In heaven, when two angelic beings get a bit randy they embrace and mix completely like air with air, a union of pure spirit, one soul mixing with the other. When we fallen angels tried that, we quickly discovered that we could feel each other's agony. The spiritual pain is doubled when we join like that, not fun, and so you can see why your version of sex is appealing.

And the sex is so good! I've got to hand it to the Big Guy! Glory to God for the female body!

But it is incredibly strange that she feels me, isn't it. She doesn't just hear my cute half-sung, half-chanted tune, and think that it's just a weird sexual quirk. She feels me worshipping and she knows I don't have any control over myself when it takes me. And in the aftermath, when I am as weak as a baby until I become reacquainted with the fact that I'm in physical form, her arms enfold me and soothe me. She comforts me as if sending me into the throes of angelic ecstasy was exactly what she had planned from the first caress. Hm!

Elizabeth asked me to stay with her that night too. At first I used to leave after she was done with me but as our liaisons became more intense I had begun to hold her against me until she fell asleep, until I was ready to leave the sanctuary of her presence. But that night I remained firmly pressed against her all night long as I watched over her dreams.

And in the morning, she gave me a key to her house, so that I might visit her temple when she is away. I already do pop in from time to time, but now I have official permission to wander around her abode like a crazy stalker. I'll have to come up with ways to put my unrestricted access to good use.

Elizabeth does have this adorable fantasy of finding me chained to her bed when she comes home from work. I wish she would put me in chains. I would make my existence a heck of a lot easier. Oh, I could leave, of course, chains can't hold me, but I would stay if she put me there. The problem is that I sense all sorts of desires from her: She wants peace in the Middle East, she wants to get a nice dinning room table to replace the hand-me-down her mother gave her, she wants the dog next door to stop barking at all hours. And I can give her anything she wishes, but a good servant is obedient. A good servant awaits his master's command. I was made to be a perfect servant and if she ever asks for more than my body, I would try to give her that. It is all that I have to give. But what need does she have for my obedience? For the misplaced devotion of a broken angel? For the love and adoration that was once capable of pleasing a Deity?

Perhaps it is best if she never asks. Perhaps it is best if I remain a plaything and nothing more.


	4. Break Me Gently

**Part 4  
Break Me Gently  
**

_Bilariel_

Even as I stand here with tears running down my cheeks, I can barely believe it. She left me, she actually left me and I love her anyway. I want to run after her and beg her to stay. I want her to let me comfort her even now as she scolds herself for what she has done to me. Because she did it on purpose. She broke my heart on purpose.

Aimee was my lover and she was beautiful. Maybe not by your standards but by mine she was perfect. She had pale skin, lively blue eyes, and reddish brown hair that fell just past her shoulder blades. Beautiful.

All she needed was a little love and kindness. Just a little encouragement and someone who understood her.

She was one of those girls that was never popular in school and had never wanted to be in that defiantly brave way that teenagers develop to protect themselves. It hadn't helped that her father had left her mother before she was born. And it hadn't helped that she would always be a little weird by society's standards. But she grew into a lovely woman all the same.

When I found her, she had been single for a long time. Alone and struggling to be as comfortable with herself as her mother had always been all those years that she had raised Aimee on her own. But she wasn't succeeding.

And then I showed up and showered her with love and attention. I told her that I adored her and I patiently accepted her outbursts of fear and self-doubt. I took all she had to give and I gave my love in return. I knew her, I understood her, and I loved her.

But in the end it wasn't enough. In the end, she punished me for the sins of all the men that came before. And I didn't even get a chance to tell her my secret.

I should have expected this. I should have known. But it is hard to see clearly when you are consumed with love and compassion.

My name is Bilarel but you can call me Bill. Everyone does. It's an angelic joke actually because I don't look anything like a Bill or any other human name. I'm just a Bilarel. But I'm from one of the lower choirs and so teasing is one of the things I just have to put up with in Hell.

Getting pushed around is another lovely benefit of being a subordinate fallen angel. And by getting pushed around, I mean being the incorporeal punching bag for any fallen angel strong enough and anguished enough to use me for release. So I have always jumped at the chance to get out and cause a little mischief of my own.

And so it was that I followed Lucifer to your world one average afternoon looking to get in on some wicked plan of his or perhaps get some leverage over him, some protection. Instead I found myself again and at first I didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing but now…

I'll start at the beginning, shall I?

Lucifer, El Capitan, the Head Honcho, the Big Cheese is secretly seeing a woman. And not in a why-don't-you-sell-your-soul-to-the-Devil kind of way. He's. . . well, they are lovers. Very kinky lovers. I won't get into the details but I will say that I would never have suspected that after all the torture he has meted out over the centuries that he would ever allow someone to - oh, I can't even put it into words!

I'm very squeamish. I've never been good at the physical stuff. I'm more of a finesse guy myself.

But on that afternoon, I followed him to a typical house in California. I watched him knock on the door and be let in. I watched an ordinary looking woman take him to her bedroom. And then I watched her hurt him and he did nothing to defend himself. He relaxed in his bonds as if the restraint were comforting and his body welcomed every sensation instead of going taut in defiance. He was not the Lord of Hell there. He was something else entirely.

And afterwards, he was so gentle with her. The contrast between what he did to her, the soft caresses and tender kisses, and the violence she had visited on his body was breathtaking. It was beautiful. He made it worship.

Leave it to Lucifer to find a way to worship again that is so _bizarre_! It was a pale shadow to what occurs in Heaven and it was completely blasphemous but I recognized it for what it was.

And as I watched their bodies moving together something changed inside of me. My heart swelled and something in my mind that had been clenched tight suddenly loosened. All at once, I felt in my very being why he was keeping this woman hidden from us. My little gift had come roaring through me like a freight train. I haven't felt empathy in a way that was not perverted by malice in a very long time.

Lucifer had convinced himself that we would laugh if we found out, that we would think less of him, but I knew that if he would just show us we would stand in awe. And we would understand. He had forgotten that we all know him. He used to call us all to worship before he whipped us into states of frenzied hatred and let us loose on the world. So, yes, we would understand why he sought this piece of home even if we had never understood how he had been capable of existing as he had in Heaven.

Lucifer used to be Love's Surrender. He used to stand before the throne and gaze with unshielded eyes at the glory of God. He let it consume him. He let it possess him. And those of us behind him were touched by the shards of light that burst out from around him. Those rays of glory bathed us in a gentler form of God's love. They gave us each a specific purpose as the myriad blessings of the Lord infused us. These purposes only became clear to us after your world was created but by then it was too late for those of us who had followed Lucifer's example.

He fell and us with him. He became Hate's Vengeance

I was Kind Compassion before I was twisted into Cruel Indifference. I am the selfishness that makes you care only for yourself. Especially when someone really needs you.

I continued to watch them and I saw Lucifer tuck his lover's sated body close to his and mold himself against her. He wrapped himself around her and then he just lay there holding her as if she were a treasure beyond words and he were not the fiendish and unrepentant Devil we all know and fear.

As this tender scene played out before me, I felt a new emotion emanating from Lucifer. It was then that it began to dawn on me that she was what had made Lucifer a royal pain in the ass for the last few months. More than anything, more than any concern that we might chuckle at him, he was afraid.

By some strange miracle, she is exactly what he needs. Their love play is not a game to her. She does not dream up imaginary offenses in order to punish him and she does not give him tasks to fail at so that she can discipline him. She does what she wants with him because he is hers. He belongs to her and she allows him to feel her unhappiness just as intimately as she shares her joy with him in bed. Some part of her understands that this experience fulfills him. And that the surrender that he gives needs no reason. Reason would ruin it.

But will she understand when he tells her what he is?

And he must try, I knew that for certain almost immediately. He is consumed and conflicted by a desire to give her what he is, what he really is. Completely. To end his existence as a creature of pain and rage, he could lay himself at her feet and let her voice command him.

As strange as that may sound, it makes perfect sense if you are a fallen angel. If you have gifts but no purpose. If you have love but no one to give it to. That is our torment. That is our curse.

And so Lucifer yearns. He yearns because he had never abandoned all hope. But now that he has been presented with a way to stop the pain, fear grips him. Fear of rejection, fear that she will not understand, fear of losing even the small piece of love that he has found.

And he is right to fear.

I don't know what she will do if he tells what he is her but not telling her is having severe effects in the spiritual realm as well as his heart. The time he has to spend away from her was tearing him apart. He has begun to rage in Hell with an unholy fury that frightens even his most loyal lieutenants. Slinking around has been come our new past time because if he notices you . . .

He cannot destroy us but he can make us wish we no longer existed. Then he sends us out into the world to ease our pain by corrupting you. And he watches us and laughs. It is a laugh that would send chills up your spine. It is the sound of insanity. And that's not a good thing for anybody.

So, I had to tell him. My purpose, my newly rediscovered reason for being demanded that I show him the path that would ease his suffering.

When I went before Lucifer and confessed that I had followed him and told him what I had seen, I thought that he would hurt me. The naked rage in his eyes threatened a depth of pain that you cannot imagine. I shuddered and watched him fight the urge to throttle me.

_"How dare you!"_ he whispered, breathless with rage, trembling to hold himself back. He showed a lot of restraint for someone so used to acting without remorse or fear of retribution.

I was in the middle of wondering why he had not immediately punished me for my insolence when I felt his internal struggle change. It was no longer about me. Mentioning his lover there in Hell, that had been a terrible a mistake. I should have realized before but I hadn't. In our realm of pain and torment, there were times when he wanted to hurt her, he wanted to squash the person who made existing here so much more painful, he wanted to lash out and destroy the source of his conflict. But he fought himself because he knew, some were deep inside, that he loved her.

"You have to tell her!" I blurted out. It is never a good idea to tell Lucifer what to do but I was being ridden hard by the foolish need to exercise compassion. Compassion was my gift and was also soon to be my downfall.

Lucifer's trembling stopped and he froze. His eyes glazed over and then unexpectedly he opened his mouth and sang in that lovely voice of his:

_"… Like a pawn on the eternal board_

_Who's never quite sure what he's moved towards…"_

I knew that song. It is a good song, a beautiful song. It is about a man abandoning himself to the pain of love. A man knowing that he will be hurt again and again and yet he will not stop pursing it.

Those poignant words hung in the air between us and I just stood there staring at him for what seemed like hours. He sat on his self-made throne and looked at nothing. Then, as quickly as his rage had stopped, he refocused his eyes on me and gave me a wickedly conspiratorial grin.

"Do you know what you are going to do for me, little angel?"

I shook my head and he chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that was both fatherly and menacing.

"You are going to go out into that big, wide world and you are going to find a lover of your own. You are going to court her and get attached to her and then, my dear, you are going to tell her, do you understand? You are the guinea pig, you are my scientific experiment, and if she accepts you, if she forgives you your sins, then I will consider it, but until then, my boy, my relationship is confidential."

I nodded furiously. It was crazy, sure, but what was I going to do about it. I had my orders and to disobey. . .

But I didn't move to leave so Lucifer rolled his eyes at me, at my fear of him, at my continued presence and then another unwelcome comment burst forth from my lips.

"You welcome the pain. You embrace it. Like when you stood before the throne in Heaven. How can you do that?"

I really thought that this time he would rip me to pieces but instead he leaned forward, put his lips to my ear and whispered, "God never gives you more than you can handle."

Those words still haunt me. Those words of trust and acceptance. Believing something like that can break you. I know because I watched it break Lucifer all those years ago. Being cast out of Heaven was the one thing he could not accept. It was the one thing he could not endure in trusting patience. It was the incomprehensible anguish of his loss that twisted him, that turned him into the Devil. It was not pride.

But Lucifer has held on to a glimmer of hope all of this time and he is beginning to believe again. Unfortunately, I was the one who was about to put this delicate hope to the test.

And so I went out into the world and did as I was told. But now I have failed. Aimee has left me and I have to go back to Lucifer and tell him. He will see that I am heartbroken and I can only hope that he will laugh. Because if he doesn't find my pain amusing, he will recognize in me the despair he will feel if he is rejected.

And if hate loses all hope, we will all feel his vengeance.

* * *

A/N: The song Lucifer sings is "The Bottom Line" by Depeche Mode.

**I have decided to update this story so please stay tuned!**


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